


Gott Weiß Ich Will Kein Engel Sein

by dahhhmer



Category: Columbine - Fandom, Historical Criminals RPF, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: Drabble Collection, First Kiss, M/M, Pet Adoption, Sharing Clothes, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahhhmer/pseuds/dahhhmer
Summary: Another place, another time, another pair of boys that the two of them could be.A collection of dylric drabbles. Requests considered.
Relationships: Eric Harris/Dylan Klebold
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	1. there's children throwing snowballs (instead of throwing heads)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from Engel by Rammstein. Translates to _God knows I don't want to be an angel._ All drabbles are unbeta'd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filled request from [thisishardcore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisishardcore/pseuds/thisishardcore); titled after What's This? from Nightmare Before Christmas.

There's something about snow that makes Eric feel a little bit like a kid again.

It's been snowing off and on for almost a month, but it's not until the day before Thanksgiving that it really comes down. It's the good kind of snow, too, sticky and wet. Good for building, good for snowballs. Dylan and Eric already have plans for the day, but the snow puts a restless feeling just under the surface of Eric's skin. He gets the feeling that plotting NBK is gonna take the back burner for today.

He's proven right, of course, when he gets out of his car at Dylan's house and is immediately assaulted with a snowball to the back of the head.

"Motherfucker!" Eric curses, spinning to find Dylan. Dylan laughs as he ducks behind a tree for cover. Eric grabs a big handful of snow off the hood of Dylan's parked car and forms it into a ball, landing it against Dylan's shoulder before he can dodge out of the way. Eric cackles as Dylan curses at him; he crouches and scoops up more snow, forming a little stockpile of snowballs in the space between his car and Dylan's.

With everything they do taking such a serious undertone lately, it's incredibly cathartic to spend a few minutes just... Being teenage boys. Eric lets himself live in the moment for once, thinking of nothing but eviscerating Dylan with snowballs.

About ten minutes later finds both boys breathless with laughter, exertion, and cold. The snowball fight ends abruptly with Eric tackling Dylan back into a snowdrift and stuffing a handful of snow down the front of his T-shirt. Dylan yelps at the cold, catching him off guard when he throws him off and reverses their positions.

There's laughter and amusement sparkling in Dylan's eyes as he grins down at Eric, cheeks and nose ruddy. Eric wonders what Dylan sees in his own face. One of his hands comes up, probably to push Dylan off of him, but instead he grabs Dylan by the front of his jacket. The grin fades to something softer, maybe a little confused. Eric swallows, exhales; watches the swirl of his breath mingle with Dylan's.

Neither boy speaks. They linger in the snow entirely too close for several long seconds. A part of Eric that he refuses to acknowledge aches for something to be different. Another place, another time, another pair of boys that the two of them could be.

They're not those boys, though. They can't touch or kiss or forge any kind of bond between them other than brotherhood. They're Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, and in about five months, they're going to blow up their school.

( _Why can't they be?_ that same traitorous part of Eric's mind wonders. Eric doesn't give himself time to consider the question. That'd be too dangerous when they're already this close.)

Dylan rolls off of Eric before he can push him away, and the moment shatters. He's also the first to get up, and he holds a gloved hand out to Eric once he's on his feet. "I think my mom is making cookies," he says. "She gets like that when it snows. Let's go see if they're done, I want hot chocolate."

Eric grabs the offered hand and lets Dylan use his strong grip to pull him upright.

By some unspoken agreement, neither boy brings up NBK for the rest of the day.


	2. so take me harmfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Wasp by Motionless in White.
> 
> I think this was the first dylric thing I ever wrote? It was probably intended to be the beginning of a longer fic, but I have no idea what the hell I was doing with it, so I'm just gonna put what I have here.

It's about 3AM on Eric's eighteenth birthday when he kisses Dylan for the first time.

Eric's eyes are open, which is his first indication that it's not a great kiss. His own hazel eyes meet Dylan's, wide with blown pupils. The second indication that it's a poor kiss comes half a second later, when Dylan reels back and falls off of the couch. He sits there on the floor for a moment, bringing his fingertips up to his lips to touch them.

Dylan looks terrified, and Eric hates himself a little more than usual.

"Don't," Eric says before Dylan can say anything, fist clenching against the edge of the couch. "I'm just drunk, I'm not — I didn't —"

"Chill, Reb," Dylan says almost absently, scrambling clumsily back onto the couch. "I'm not... Mad. Just. Give me a fuckin' second."

Eric swallows. Nods. The least he can do after jumping his best friend is give him a moment to process it. He looks anywhere but at Dylan, which is probably why he doesn't notice Dylan is leaning into his space again until their lips are almost touching.

The second time they kiss isn't much better than the first, but at least they both have their eyes closed.


	3. take that shirt off (baby, put it on me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, have I been leaving clothes over here? Have you seen my Xtort shirt?"
> 
> "I don't think so, man," Eric lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after Freak by Doja Cat, because... Because.

Dylan can't find his KMFDM shirt.

It wouldn't bother him so much, except he's been losing his favorite T-shirts for weeks now. He's not the neatest person in the world by any means, but he's never misplaced so many things over just a couple weeks' time. It's hard enough to even find shirts that fit him, given how tall and skinny he is — much less ones that he _likes._ He just can't figure out where they keep going.

Dylan sighs and settles for a plain black tee, then shrugs his trench coat on over it. He's heading over to Eric's; maybe he's been leaving stuff there on accident. He _has_ been staying the night more often lately. Maybe Eric has seen his stuff.

—

"Hey, have I been leaving clothes over here? Have you seen my Xtort shirt?"

Dylan's not looking at Eric when he asks the question, something for which Eric is immensely grateful. It gives him a moment to compose himself, time to make his face into a mask of blank concentration (as if he hasn't seen Event Horizon a dozen times by now) and not fully expose himself as — as a —

_Whatever._

"I don't think so, man," Eric lies, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "I haven't seen anything. I guess I can check my laundry basket. Lotta black T-shirts."

Dylan laughs. "Yeah. I thought maybe... I dunno. I just keep losing shit and I can't figure out where it's going."

Eric hums. "Sucks," he says. "Hey, pass me the vodka, Vodka." Dylan hands him the quarter-full bottle, and the conversation ends there.

—

An hour later finds Eric settled astride Dylan's lap, hands in his hair and tongue in his mouth.

It's nothing new. It's part of why Dylan's been staying over so much, honestly. Sometimes when they drink they'll make out for a while. It's not something they talk about, and lately, the amount of alcohol involved has been less and less. They usually stop before it goes any further than that, but Eric's been trying to work up the nerve to take it further. Part of him is just afraid Dylan will reject him if he makes it _too_ gay.

That worry is assuaged when Dylan starts to slide his hands up under the hem of Eric's sweater. He keeps his touch over Eric's T-shirt, but Eric's face floods with heat anyway. Before he can convince himself not to, he sits back a little and pulls his sweater over his head. It leaves him in his usual two layers, T-shirt and undershirt. Dylan stares at him for a moment, lips kiss-swollen and pupils blown, and Eric grins back. He hopes he doesn't look too flustered.

Eric's just about to lean in to kiss Dylan again when Dylan says, "Hang on."

Eric stops and frowns, sudden self-consciousness replacing the confidence he'd felt only moments before. He reaches for his sweater again, but Dylan grabs his wrist to stop him. He looks amused. Eric frowns at him, confused.

"What?" Eric snaps, trying to tug his wrist out of Dylan's grasp. "I don't—"

"I thought you didn't know where my shirt was," Dylan interrupts. Eric stops squirming and glances down at himself.

Oh, fuck.

"I—" Eric swallows hard, trying to pull away again. Dylan doesn't let him; he settles his other hand on Eric's thigh and holds him in place. "I didn't..."

"It's okay," Dylan says, impossibly gentle, and Eric's face burns with embarrassment. "It looks good on you." There's a pause; Eric avoids Dylan's eyes, and Dylan stares at him openly. "You've been stealing my shirts?"

"I just." Eric huffs irritably, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He doesn't want to have this conversation. "Don't be a fucking girl about it."

"I think you're the one being a girl about it," Dylan points out, which. Fair. Eric straightens his head to glare at him anyway, though. Dylan just grins back. "You can keep that one. But you gotta give some of them back, man."

"... I can?"

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I told you, it looks good on you. Too big. I like it." He sounds a little shy, now, and Eric resists the urge to make fun of him. This is, after all, his own doing.

"Okay," Eric mumbles. His face must be the color of a fucking fire engine right now. Dylan still looks entirely too pleased with himself, too smug, so Eric leans in to kiss the expression off his face.

It works for a minute or so, but when they part for a moment again, the smirk is back. Eric thinks about biting him. "Can you—"

"You can keep it," Dylan says, all in a rush like he's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't, "But you should take it off."

Eric blinks for a second, uncomprehending. Then — "Oh."

"Oh," Dylan repeats. Eric notes, satisfied, that he's no longer the only one blushing. Good.

"... Alright."

—

Later, Eric puts the shirt back on. When he sees the way Dylan keeps glancing over at him for the rest of the night, he can't help thinking that despite Dylan's complaints, he might just keep stealing his shirts, after all.


	4. the butterflies you give me are literally making me nauseous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after I Threw Glass at My Friend's Eyes and Now I'm On Probation by Destroy Boys. Requested by anonymous. Not my best work, but I am an extremely lazy little gremlin.

"We're not fuckin' taking it home, Reb."

Dylan frowns down at the puppy Eric has cradled in his arms. It's cute, sure, but it's also a fucking rottweiler. Dylan can deal with smaller dogs, but big ones? Big ones that are _literally known for being vicious?_ Fuck, no.

"Look at her! She's tiny, V. Couldn't hurt a fly," Eric insists. He nuzzles the dog's fur. Dylan pretends it's not adorable.

"She's gonna grow up to be huge! You know Rotts get big," Dylan argues. "And we have a cat! Rocky's ancient! That dog is gonna give him a heart attack if we take it home."

"There's no _if._ If you get to keep your ancient cat that leaves fur all over my shit, then I get a pet, too," Eric says firmly.

"We're not taking it home!"

—

They take her home.

Eric names her Lucia, after Lucia Cifarelli. Dylan calls her Lucy, mostly just to spite Eric.

As dogs go, even Dylan has to admit that she's actually pretty chill. She doesn't chase Rocky around or terrorize him; she sniffs at him curiously once, but when he hisses at her, she never goes near him again. She doesn't exactly shed a lot, either; Rottweilers are short-furred. 

She also, much to Eric's chagrin and Dylan's lowkey amusement, seems to vastly prefer Dylan over Eric.

"It's 'cause I'm taller," Dylan informs his roommate one night a week or so after the adoption. Lucia is curled up in Dylan's lap, and Eric is scowling at the pair of them. "She knows I'm the alpha."

"Fuck off!" Eric snaps, but Dylan hears laughter in his voice. "Man, this is bullshit. You didn't even want her."

Dylan smiles and shrugs, stroking Lucia's head again. He supposes things could have turned out worse.

—

"Move over."

Dylan blinks sleep out of his eyes, frowning at the silhouette of Eric standing over him. "What?" he asks, groggy. "Reb? What the fuck? What time is it?"

"Move over!" Eric repeats, impatient. Dylan, too tired to question it, scoots aside to make room for Eric. Eric slides under the covers beside him. Dylan stares.

"I wanna sleep with the dog," Eric says, gaze trained firmly on the feeling. "And she won't leave your fucking bed. So."

Dylan closes his eyes and sighs. "Whatever, Reb." He rolls over onto his other side. A few moments later, Lucia hops up onto the bed and settles between the two of them. Dylan falls asleep to the sound of Eric whispering excitedly to her.

—

Dylan is used to waking up with Lucia snuggled up to him, so he doesn't question it when he wakes the next morning and feels a warm body cuddled up to his side. It's only a minute or so later that he realizes the shape is distinctly bigger than a puppy ought to be. When he opens his eyes, Dylan has no idea how to feel when the first thing he sees is the top of Eric's head.

"Dude," Dylan mutters to himself, unsure how to proceed. It's... nice, sure, but he gets the feeling Eric will kill him if he implies as much. Not that Eric is awake right now. Dylan drags a hand over his face and sighs.

"Reb," he tries, shaking Eric's shoulder gently. Eric frowns and presses his face against Dylan's T-shirt. It's kind of adorable. "Eric, c'mon. Wake up. Lucia has to pee."

Eric blinks awake, still scowling. He doesn't seem to realize where he is for a moment, but once he does, he scrambles away so fast he nearly falls out of the bed. Dylan laughs, a low, sleep-rough rumble.

"Shut the fuck up," Eric says, and storms out of the room. A few moments later, Dylan hears the front door open and close, presumably as Eric takes Lucia out to pee. He stretches, yawns, and gets up to go make coffee.

—

That night, Lucia curls up close to Dylan's side again. Eric, apparently determined to win her affection, sits close on the other side of her. Lucia doesn't seem bothered by this arrangement in the slightest; in fact, by the time the movie they're watching is over, they've somehow gotten even closer. Lucia, asleep, is stretched out across both of their laps.

"Y'know, if you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked," Dylan says casually, reaching for the remote.

Eric sputters for a moment. "If it wouldn't wake up the dog, I'd fucking kill you right now," he hisses finally. Dylan laughs quietly, reaching out his free arm to wrap it around Eric's shoulders. Eric tenses. "What the fuck, dude?"

"Shh," Dylan says, selecting another movie from their list. "You'll wake her up."

A few moments later, Dylan feels Eric slowly start to relax. He tries not to grin. (He fails.)


End file.
